You can't. [ it comes immediately on the heels of his offer, brisk and defensive. clumsy, in how it crushes any fragile hope for rescuing her. there is no sparing her from the darkness that rests behind her eyes, the shrieks that haunt her dreams, as a city drowns beneath a swirling sea of shadows. even if there were — it's her burden to carry. her reminder of lives that hang in the balance, should she fail to wipe away the regret that had desperately led her here. ] No one can.

[ and no one should try. that path only ends in more chains, another person shackled to the fate she carries like a cross fastened to her back. like mal, like the stag — sacrifices set upon a pyre that should be hers and hers alone. she isn't so selfish as to condemn the doctor to the same consequences. ]

You might be the Doctor, but you can't fix this. You can't fix me.

[ as doctors are destined to do, finding cures for what ails her — but what treatment is there, when what's fundamentally wrong is her? alina's arms cross over her chest, protective, though she doesn't draw away from him. ]

Morozova's stag and I were destined for each other. I can't explain it, but I've always known it would be a part of me. Deep down, I could sense it was more than a myth. [ her fingertips tap against her chest, that coiling gut instinct that had been present after every dream, every drawing of its crisscrossed antlers. ] But I couldn't save it. I couldn't —

[ she cuts herself off, a shaking breath webbing through the frosty air. ]

You're not under any threat from it. It's not going to hurt us.